


F: Fire

by brokxnharry



Series: Teen Wolf A-Z Challenge (with songs) [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Mentions of Laura, The Hale Fire, mentions of Peter, mentions of mama stilinski, sciles are the best, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 00:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: Derek finds Stiles' Jeep on fire and he needs to get him out, like he couldn't do for them.





	F: Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Forest Fire - Brighton

Red was dancing in Derek's eyes, fading into a yellow that he swore was the color of his sister's favorite shirt. They dissolved into one another, brushing against all the edges, turning them a tainted shade of orange. Exploding into the black of the night sky and coloring it with rage, with pain, with loss.

He thought he pushed the brakes of his own car, thought he parked it somewhere. He might have opened his door, might have stumbled out and tripped over the familiar scent, almost welcoming him home, embracing him and swearing it'd burn him alive too. He probably crossed the street, probably tried to hear if there were any heartbeats nearby, anyone for him to save. He couldn't really tell. Wasn't quite sure of much, except that it was Stiles' Jeep, and it was on fire, and he couldn't. He couldn't do this again. Couldn't watch it happen again. Couldn't stare as it took someone else away.

So he threw his fists through the window, breaking it, and he could almost hear, Stiles whining about it, demanding that he paid for the repairs. He almost wanted to cry, because he'd do anything, absolutely fucking anything, to hear Stiles' voice again. He pushed past the jammed door, clawing at the seats, at the belts, at anything of the car that was still held together, blinded by the thick, black smoke, and pictures of his family home, collapsing in flames, as he watched his family, one body after the other, falling away, disappearing, leaving him with crisped bones and blackened figures that he couldn't identify, couldn't believe that they had once been the people who'd meant most to him.

He could feel the smoke crawling down his throat, clinging to cords, forming lumps of things that he'd never be able to speak. He almost threw up, remembering how he'd coughed that same smoke out, for months after the fire had been put out, how he could still smell the distinguished scent of each of their bodies burning. It was odd; he'd thought they'd all be the same. Bodies burning. Fire against skin. But no, every one of them smelled of something different, although, that thing was dying, withering away. Even Peter. Derek could still smell it on him to this day. And sometimes, he just wanted to hold his breath until he didn't have to.

He could hear a voice, somewhere. Could have been calling for someone. Could have been some sort of roar, a broken sound of a fading animal, pleading for something. For anything, to just not let this happen again. He felt something falling against his face, blurring and smudging and tainting. He went to wipe it away, to get rid of it, but they were tears and they wouldn't stop fucking coming. He almost thought they'd be able to put the fire in his heart out.

But then there was a hand somewhere around him, and he thought of Laura's hands, pulling him back, keeping him away, weeping about the burned house and the dead family and telling him that he couldn't go in there, that she couldn't lose him too. And he fought, and he wrestled, and he pushed with all his might, because **_no_** , Stiles wouldn't end up like them. He wouldn't allow him.  

Someone was calling his name, and the grasp on him only grew stronger, more desperate, but he couldn't stop. Why couldn't they understand? He couldn't stop. His chest was imploding with all these scents of smoke and fire and burning and his heart was beating as if chasing after time, begging for a few minutes, only a few more minutes to be able to get to Stiles. To save someone, for once in his fucking life. And if he stopped, he'd just collapse, and there would be nothing left to him. Nothing left of him.

" _Derek!_ " His claws turned away from blindly tearing through the interior of Stiles' car, pushing against whoever it was, pushing them away, breaking through a surface that felt a lot like flush. Derek opened his eyes, without really knowing when he'd closed them, things inside him feeling raw, and brand new. Like all the wounds were bleeding again. Like he'd bleed his misery right out.

Stiles was there, on the ground, hand against his now bloody chest, eyebrows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut and-

Derek fell beside him, pulling his hands out, trying to touch him, trying to know if he was real, or if he was only seeing him, finding comfort in the presence of someone, even if it was just a ghost, a mirage of what once was.

" Stiles, wh- what? How are you here? Yo- your car was- and I- I couldn't, I don- I don't understand, I c- I can't, I," His claws disappeared somewhere inside him, hiding away from what they'd done. His red eyes faded into the dullest shade of greenish brown, that were staring down at his burned, blistered, peeling, human hands. And Derek couldn't breathe.

He put a hand to his heart and willed it to just- just stop hurting like he was dying, like it was pushing its way to a stop. He wiped at the sweat blanketing his figure, tried to breathe past the scent of burning tires and melting metal and Stiles' **_blood_**. He'd hurt Stiles. He was bleeding because of him, and the smell was just. It was suffocating. He **_couldn't_**.

" Derek, hey, stop. I'm fine. It's okay. Just breathe. Come on, man, please." Stiles tried to get closer, tried to drag his body towards Derek's, but he stopped, winced, and Derek choked on a pathetic attempt at a breath, tears making Stiles' image, that much hazier.

" I hurt you. I- fuck, Stiles. I **_hurt_** you." Derek was suddenly feeling everything so immensely.  Like a tornado of ill emotions had passed through, dragging him along, taking it all with it. And he was spinning and spinning and-

" These are just a couple of scratches. They're not even that deep. Trust me. But, your hands, Derek. You- we need to call someone. You need help." This time, Stiles pushed through it, taking Derek's arms, and inspecting what else had happened to them. Had happened to him. The scent of his blood held Derek by the throat, and a wounded whine sounded from somewhere within.

" It's okay. You're okay. We're all okay. The car is done for though. And I'm pretty sure I got a concussion or something from the blast." Derek could smell it now; it wasn't all from the scratches. There was a head wound too, that had barely stopped bleeding.

" Blast?"

" Yeah. I was driving home, and the Jeep started making all those sounds, so I went out, to take a look at the motor, and it just.. blew up. I was thrown away, hit my head into that tree, and just, passed out. Till I heard you calling for me. And, yeah." Stiles had his eyebrows furrowed, looking between Derek's hands that were almost completely burned, to the burn marks on his thighs, from where he'd leaned against the car, and the holes in his chest area, and.

" What were you **_doing_** , Derek? You almost got yourself killed there." Derek shook his head, because no, he wouldn't think about this again, wouldn't let it take him back there. He pulled his hands away from Stiles, collapsing onto his back, and leaving his hands beside him, like he couldn't feel his body almost surrender, in front of all the wounds it was far too weak to heal. He heard Stiles falling somewhere beside him, and hoped it was close.

Stiles inched closer, wanting so desperately to touch Derek, to hold him, but all the raw skin, seemed to be hanging to his figure by a thread, and if Stiles got too close, held too hard, it'd all just fall away. So he let his fingers touch against Derek's, barely, but he knew he could feel it. Could feel him. Derek let out a sigh that was the first exhale of air to sound like a breath.

" We should probably start moving soon. Someone must have called the police or an ambulance or something and they can't show up and see your broken claws or speedy healing process."

" I think your dad is coming. Scott too."

" Where do you want to go then? Do you want me to drive you home, or maybe, we can hide away somewhere, until the officials are gone at least?" Derek was aware of how rattled Stiles' breathing was, how his chest made sounds that weren't meant to be there, how he had to inhale, between almost every word, gasping it out.

" You need a hospital. You can't take us anywhere." Derek opened his eyes, turning his head to where Stiles laid.

" Yeah, well, I'm not leaving you. So lets go a bit deeper into the woods, and Scott should be able to sniff us out."

" He won't be able to. Too much," Derek wanted to say _fire_ , but really, it was too much of everything. It was all just, too fucking much, he almost couldn't take it.

" Alright. We'll go into the woods, and then I'll come out, tell my dad what happened, then grab Scott, and we'll come and find you. I'll tell him to call Deaton or something." Stiles sat himself up, hissing, coughing, but it was clear, he was trying to hold onto that, to keep it in, and not let it stink Derek's air further.

" You're not healthy enough, Stiles. Just. It's fine. I can take care of myself." Derek stood up, with more ease than Stiles, but it felt like someone was gutting him, like his skin was tearing and tearing and tearing and he found himself bent forward, both his hands to his knees, if only to keep him from crumbling onto his face.

" Car or woods, Derek?" Stiles asked, hands finding Derek, pouring something into him that almost felt like bliss. Probably smelled like care.

" Woods." Derek groaned, leaning into Stiles, and just allowing him to catch him. To put him, or at least keep, him together. Derek tried to ignore the smell of Stiles' blood that intensified, as they passed the tree he'd hit against. Tried not to look at the red, marking its bark, the way it probably marked Derek's claws.

Stiles laid him down, legs buckling somewhere beside him, without him really meaning for them to, but his head was heavy and the world was turning beneath his feet, and he couldn't find his balance. He never really could.

" Are you healing properly? Can you feel it?" Stiles whispered, voice strained, muffled by whatever was still clouding his chest.

" I think it's going to stop at some point. Might be too much for one night of healing."

" Does it hurt?"

" A bit. I guess." His shoulders moved into a shrug. He could feel Stiles' eyes on him, could feel them taking in, how some of his wounds were oozing with blood that was more black than anything, how his skin latched on, every cell reforming into something healthier, something stronger.

" I'm sorry this had to happen to you, Derek. I tried getting you away from it, but,"

" It's not your fault. When I, saw your Jeep, and how, uh, how big the fire seemed to be, I didn't really think. It wasn't about you anymore. It was, something more. But I guess, no other fires could ever wipe away that one, right? None of it would ever bring them back, make this.. okay?" Stiles' eyes looked remarkably sad. So young and innocent, like if they looked kindly enough, they'd somehow chase all the guilt away.

" No, Derek. It probably won't." Stiles didn't sound unkind, didn't sound like he found pleasure in that. If anything, it sounded like he wished there was something else for him to say, some promise of consolation that he'd do everything to keep. Derek smiled, all hollowed out and tired.

" It was mum's Jeep, you know. She loved it so much. Refused to change anything about it. Even when it was slowly becoming a piece of junk, she just, always loved that thing. And when she, when she passed, it took dad a few years to be able to hand me the keys. I was scared shitless at first, of it, of what it'll bring back. And for a while, I had a panic attack, every time I got in it. But, it grew on me. And it felt like my little piece of her. And now, it's gone too." Stiles sounded like he was choking on something else, something more than just smoke, and Derek thought, none of it could ever bring her back for him either, or make it okay. So he allowed Stiles the silence, listening in to his heartbeat and hoping he'd feel his tug there. But then there was someone calling his name, asking where the fuck he could be, and Stiles sighed, leaning against the tree, and dragging his weight, until he was upright.

Derek watched him limp away, folding upon himself, like he was breaking in two. When Derek's eyes closed, he could hear the sheriff's arms wrapping around his son, could hear Scott, saying something about smelling Derek in the area, about finding his car empty, like he'd abandoned it without bothering to wait for it to stop. He could smell Stiles' tears, his guilt for something he couldn't possibly control. Could smell the sheriff's relief, his panic slowly dispersing away, and he inhaled more of that, hoping it'd overshadow everything else.

He thought he heard Stiles breathing through an oxygen mask, thought he smelled the fire as it withered away, but he could still hear it cackling in his ears, could still see the angry colors growing and growing, painting it all with agony and heartbreak and fear. He shuddered, feeling a hand on him again. He opened his eyes, and Scott was smiling down on him, leaning down, and lifting his weight, almost effortlessly.

" Stiles' dad told them he'd write the report himself. He sent the ambulance away too. It's just us now. What do you need?"

" Did they do something for the cuts on Stiles' chest? Did they stop bleeding? They could get infected, you know, and I,"

" Relax. I saw them, they're not deep. Will just sting for a while, but with proper care, they probably won't even scar."

" Fuck, Scott," Derek felt the pit in his stomach deepening, widening, almost absorbing him whole.

" I know, man. I know. It's okay. What matters now, is that you both made it out alive." Scott gave him that smile, that was always hopeful, always certain, and Derek eased more of his weight onto Scott, worn down to his core.

As soon as they stepped back onto the main road, Derek was pulled into a pair of arms, that were unfamiliar, but not at all threatening. He felt himself collapsing into them, felt himself letting go, and he wondered if that was how it would feel, to crash through and fall into what felt like **_home_**.

" God, I'm glad you're both okay. Thank you, Derek. Thank you, son." Derek's face crumbled, and he brought a hand, to hide away his face, because he hadn't been called that for so long. Hadn't been held like that for years, he'd almost forgotten how it felt. To have someone. To fucking matter to someone.

" I didn't do anything. He wasn't in the car." Derek choked out, right into the sheriff's shoulder.

" But you almost got yourself killed because you thought he was in there. You went through all that, just to get him out, Derek. And I. I can never repay you for this. Can't possibly make it up to you."

" You don't have to, sheriff. Stiles saved my ass before. I'd do anything for him."

Derek could see Stiles, now sitting in his own car, with the door opened, and his legs dangling out. He had the oxygen mask still around his mouth, a blanket covering his body, and he had that look in his eyes, that Derek couldn't really understand, but he'd try to. After he'd drank in how the sheriff's arms felt around him, how he smelled like his mum and his dad and everyone he'd ever lost, everything he'd ever wanted back. How he smelled like a home, that had never been touched by fire.


End file.
